


You Should Never Drown Alone

by Zayrastriel



Series: The Drowning 'verse [3]
Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, F/F, Zombie Apocalypse, actor death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:05:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People grow on you, her mother used to tell her.  Give them the chance and they will.<br/>Zombie apocalypses never seemed to count as a 'chance' but hey, she's just going to roll with it.  Because if one of the only people with her is growing on her in the best possible way, she's not complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Should Never Drown Alone

_There’s nothing that they have in common, apart from the fact that they’ve both made their living from acting.  One’s famous for playing destructive sort-of-god in high-budget action movies, the other for a teenage queen ben in a musical (debatably) comedy show._

_That both their characters are destructive and cruel to hide everything that’s gone wrong with their lives, their horribly messed-up lives, isn’t even a common denominator, because they aren’t their characters._

_But there’s one other connection they share._

_Through their friends._

_(Lovers.)_

_(Saviours.)_

~~~~~

Dianna meets her by chance as she’s fleeing through the subway on foot, just after zombies have torn Jason to shreds.

(It’s hard running when the tears won’t stop dripping down her face, and everything in front of her is dark and watery.)

A good chance, too, because if she wasn’t yanked into a corner and up a safety exit, she might (probably) not be alive to think about how good a chance it was.

~~~~~

It’s barely a week since the world started ending when Bree drags her out of the subway, down a barely-visible alleyway, and into a small apartment.

“My name’s Bree,” she says cheerfully, like the last five minutes haven’t happened.  “Are you okay?? It’s so awesome to meet you, sorry, is this really awkward, oh my god this is really awkward.   _Hi_ , you definitely have like no idea who I am but yeah.”

Dianna blinks slowly.

“Um.  I’m…fine,” she replies, carefully enunciating each syllable to give herself room to  _think_.  What about, she’s not entirely sure, but anything that isn’t the constant surprise that is her situation (zombie apocalypse, Jason  _dead_ (oh dear God, no, not her little brother, _no_ ), and being saved by someone half her height.)  “Sorry.  Um.  Nice apartment.”

A shadow flickers across the girl’s –  _Bree_ ’s – face before disappearing as she smiles brightly, reaching for an elastic to tie back blonde-brown strands of hair.  “Oh, it’s not much, and I’ve been sharing with some friends – but hey, this is New York, I’m just doing whatever it takes.”

That makes absolutely no sense to Dianna, who hates New York (this area of it, anyway) and could never understand why the Glee writers were so fixated on it; but she nods anyway.

“Fair enough.”

There’s a strained silence (strained on her part, anyway, because Bree doesn’t seem to notice.)

“Anyway,” Bree continues, “let me show you around!”

~~~~~

The next few days pass in a blur for Dianna; a blur of admiring glances, confusion, canned food and boiled water.  Of knowledge and information that’s disconnected and surreal – Bree’s Australian, she’s about eight years older than Bree and that makes her feel old and weary, she’s in New York after finishing some sort of Liberal Arts degree in Sydney, her friends would be so excited to meet Dianna.

And  _frustration_.

She’s almost positive now that her unlikely saviour’s ‘friends’ are either dead or long gone.  Bree tells her the day after she arrives, when they’re eating stale cornflakes washed down with milk that’s a day past its expiry date, that her friends went off to find food, the night Dianna was dragged from the tunnel.

 _They don’t like the darkness,_ Bree tells her, satisfied smile on her face.   _So it’s pretty safe to go out in the dark_.

Dianna was being chased down a dark tunnel, so dark she could barely see her brother die (though she heard it, definitely heard it), and so clearly that theory’s more than a little flawed. 

Not that she says it; just acknowledges the words as politely as she can.

It’s  _frustrating_ , the way that Bree doesn’t seem to be fazed by the death and destruction, by the screams they can hear through cracked glass and paper-thin walls.  Dianna, smiling and answering anything she can, cringes and digs her nails into her palms and tries not to think about Jason, about how certain she is that all her friends either died like that or are out there, doing the killing; all while Bree talks about Glee and fandoms and her friends and maybe they should go out and get food sometime soon, that should be fun.

 _Fun_.

 

At night she tosses and turns as her dreams, no matter how innocent or calm they start, never fail to turn into nightmares that find her awake, muffling screams into her pillow.

Once, delirious with fear and exhaustion, Dianna is dimly aware of someone shushing her, of fingers running soothingly through her hair as she sobs.

The next day, she wishes all her nightmares could end like that.

~~~~~

It’s the best and worst timing when she finally really snaps.

About a week (she’s starting to lose track of days, and that terrifies her) after Dianna arrives in the apartment, Bree finally decides that maybe, just  _maybe_ , they might need to go out and forage for more food.

They’ve been eating crackers and some strange, salty-bitter Australian spread called…Vegemite?  Whatever it is, she’s  _sick_ of it, and feeling more than a little malnourished.   _Maybe_ is the most hilariously unamusing understatement of the century.

“The supermarket’s had its windows broken in,” Bree informs her cheerfully; there is something quite disturbing about hearing someone talk about an act of minor vandalism in that tone, but she’s excited enough at the prospect of actual  _food_ to ignore it.  “We’ll go tonight; if we’re careful it  _should_ be fine.”

Dianna has her doubts about  _should_.

Food is food, though; and so, it’s with eager anticipation that she awaits the sun setting, waits till it’s past ten o’clock and Bree hands her a bag, a thick coat and scarf.

“Make sure you keep your hood up, and try to cover as much of your face as you can,” the shorter girl tells her quietly, usual buoyancy strangely subdued.  “If they see you, just move as stiffly and awkwardly as you can?  Not that you’re ever awkward or anything, but…yeah.”

They don’t have any weapons, Dianna realises as they walk down the stairs, moving as silently as possible. 

The streets are quiet and cold.  Normal quiet, till she realises it’s New York that they’re in, not some silent corner of suburbia.

She shudders, pulling her coat tighter around her.

The supermarket doesn’t have broken windows, it turns out; it doesn’t  _have_ windows, almost as if the glass has completely shattered.  The security lights, somehow, haven’t yet died; they cast a dim light that does little more than soften the blackness.

“I’m going to head down here,” Dianna murmurs to Bree, pointing randomly at one of the more promising-looking aisles.  “See if you can find anything in some of the others?”

Without waiting for an answer, she turns away. 

It’s weird, feeling a sense of freedom while walking down a supermarket aisle (it has biscuits and crackers, and she bags those resignedly, though she’s had enough of crackers to last her the rest of her life).  But she’s spent so much time in that tiny apartment, and though Bree isn’t intrusive (talkative, yes, and more than a little too  _happy_ for Dianna’s current liking), there’s something about finally blessedly being alone that-

“ _Boo_ ,” something whispers from behind her.

Her scream echoes in the empty store as she pivots quickly on her foot – too quickly, because she falls backwards and it  _hurts_ , a lot, but she scrambles backwards anyway, trying to gather enough breath to call out for-

A laugh rings out, and she frowns, vision adjusting.

It’s Bree.

“Sorry,” the girl says, still giggling slightly, “I couldn’t help myself.  And you should have seen your face-“

“ _Are you crazy_?!” Dianna hisses, pushing herself onto her feet and lunging forwards, only a ridiculous amount of self-control stopping her from just pushing Bree onto the ground or slapping the frozen smile off of her face.  “You little  _brat_ , do you think this is some kind of  _adventure_?  Because it might be to you, but my brother is  _dead_.”

Dianna’s crying, she realises dimly – or at least, there are tears in her eyes – but she can’t stop the words pouring out of her mouth, vicious and uncontrolled, as she digs her fingers into her saviour’s shoulders.  “My brother is  _dead_ , and he’s not coming back, and neither are your friends, so why don’t you just  _grow up_ and stop wasting our time?!”

Still shaking, she pulls back slowly, breathing heavy and harsh in the stark silence.

Bree’s expression is blank.

“Okay,” the shorter girl says, dark hazel eyes expressionless.

 _Shit_.  “Bree, I-“

There’s a thud from the end of the aisle, and their heads both whip up, the two of them sharing a panicked look.

“Is…is someone there?”

Dianna wishes her voice could sound more certain, less afraid; but it doesn’t.

Footsteps, louder and clearer, and heading in their direction; Dianna can feel Bree’s gaze on her. 

She swallows.  “If it’s them, it’s too late now,” she whispers, more to herself than to her companion.

 _I wish I could have stayed alive longer, Jason_ , Dianna thinks.

“Guys,” and they both jerk at the sound of a voice, “…I think we’ve got live humans.”

She knows that voice.

She does.  Hasn’t heard it in a month or so, because they’ve both been busy but Dianna  _knows that voice_.

A figure, holding what looks like a gun raised in one hand, steps forwards in the dimness of the security light above their heads, and a flashlight comes on.

“Oh my god,” the figure breathes, hand coming forward to touch Dianna’s cheek almost unbelievingly.  “ _Dianna_?”

Oh, she knows that voice.

~~~~~

“ _Lea_?”

Lea’s arms wrap around her before Dianna’s realised that she’s already hugging Lea, breathing in the familiar warmth and scent of her friend. 

She doesn’t want to let go but remembers that Bree is standing there and forces herself to release Lea, stepping back slightly.  “Lea, this is Bree,” she says, voice wavering in excitement, “Bree this is…”

“I know,” Bree says.  There’s something off about her tone, but Dianna ignores it.  “Nice to meet you,” she says quietly, politely.

 _Grow up_.  That’s what Dianna had said; and she feels a stab of guilt, because she knows now after the past week that Lea Michele, more than Dianna herself, is possibly Bree’s favourite person-she-doesn’t-actually-know in the world.

“It’s so good to see you alive,” Lea exclaims, drawing Dianna’s attention back to her.  “I mean sure, I’d been hoping, but…”  She bites her lip.  “Well, you know.”

 _Jason_.

Dianna nods.  “Yeah,” She does.  “So are you alone?” she asks.  “How’ve you been…”

“Surviving?” Lea finishes.  “There’s a group of us; not many, but we’ve got contact with a whole bunch of other survivors – some are keeping the phone networks from crashing, you might have noticed.”

Dianna hasn’t even thought to check her phone; but clearly someone else has, because Bree makes a sound of agreement.

“Yeah, I’ve still got reception,” she says hesitantly, pulling a phone from her pocket.  “I didn’t want to get my hopes up, I couldn’t help it.”

Lea smiles at her, a hint of surprise in her eyes.  “Hmm, optimism?  It’s nice to see it.”  She sounds sincere.  “No one else I’m with is quite so positive.”

“Understandably,” Dianna cuts in, and she feels immediately ashamed of herself when Bree flinches.

She can’t quite blame Lea for looking between the two of them, more than a little confused.  “…Right,” her friend says uneasily.  “Well.  I was just out here for some food; you’re coming back with me, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Dianna says in a rush, because  _thank God_ there are more people alive, maybe the rest of her family, maybe some of her friends, this could maybe not be quite so bad as she’d thought.

But when Lea glances across at Bree questioningly, Dianna feels a rush of panic.  “You are coming, aren’t you?” she demands.  “I mean, I know you’re waiting for your friends, but-“

Once again, Bree flinches (this time it’s barely noticeable, but she feels it strike her like a slap across her face) – but as quickly as that’s gone, she smiles brightly.  “Of course I am!” she exclaims.

She can’t help but feel relief washing through her, calming her nerves.

~~~~~

They’re almost there (an abandoned penthouse three streets away) when it all goes horribly wrong.

Beside her, Lea stiffens.  “Shit,” the shorter woman mutters.  “This isn’t good.”

“What’s wrong?” Dianna asks, heart sinking.  Not zombies, please, they’re so unbelievably close and tonight has been going so  _well_ (apart from the fight and the awkwardness and she feels like she’s just smashed an idol with her foot)-

“Zombies,” Lea says grimly.  “Come on, keep moving, we’re almost there-“

From behind them, there’s a snarl.  “ _Fuck_ ,” and Lea whips around, Dianna turning slower to see her raise a gun, press a trigger and a fireball engulfing the zombie.

As it screams, Lea places one hand on Bree’s back and the other on Dianna’s, shoving them in the direction they’re meant to be walking.  “ _Go_!” she yells over the sound of crackling fire.  “I’ll hold them off and follow, but you’ve got to  _go_!”

Dianna opens her mouth to argue.

But the words don’t come out, because Bree’s grabbed onto her hand and is  _running_ , and Bree is short but surprisingly strong, because Dianna is forced to move with her, staring helplessly over her shoulder at tiny Lea, holding the flamethrower gun thing up and firing, still firing.

When they finally arrive at the entrance to the tunnel Lea had told them about, Dianna fumbles at the latch with numb, stiff fingers till Bree takes over, opening it with a surprising, quiet efficiency.

Once they’re inside, Dianna sinks to the floor.  They’ve run barely half a mile but she feels like they’ve been sprinting a marathon; her throat is parched, lungs aching and ribs burning with every breath.

“You alright?” she manages to ask Bree, though she doesn’t hear the answer as she drifts into unconsciousness.

She wakes what seems like a decade later to find Lea hunched against the wall a couple of yards away, Bree bent over her as Lea mutters inaudibly.  “…Lea?” Dianna groans, shifting from her position with a wince (more than a few muscles complaining loudly at the move) and staggering towards the pair of them.

“…Lea?  Bree?” she tries again when neither responds.  “Is something wrong?” she asks sharply, suddenly alert and terrified.

Wordlessly, the younger girl shifts across, pulling Lea forwards slightly by the shoulder…

…to reveal, purpling, bloody and disgusting, the  _bite_.

~~~~~

“You have to kill me,” Lea slurs, shuddering as her body spasms.  “We’ve been sitting here for ten hours now – transformation will start in two.  You  _have to do it_ , Dianna.”

“I can’t,” Dianna whispers, “and even if I could,  _how_?”

Lea’s mouth opens in a cracked, humourless smile.  Her teeth are yellowing, and her gums are tinged with black.  “Flamethrower.  Fire’s the only thing we’ve found that works on zombies, so it should work on me.”

 _No_.  “No.”  She can’t.  “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

 _Both_.

“It’ll hurt you,” she points out.  Lea rolls her eyes.

“Look-“  The dark-haired girl swallows dryly.  “Look in my bag.  Tranquilisers.  We raided a hospital a couple of days ago.  They should” and there’s that  _should_ again, not enough of a  _will_ for Dianna “work on me.”

“I can’t-“ she begins.

Bree sinks to her knees in front of the bag, reaching in.  “I’ll do it,” she says, not looking up.

~~~~~

Lea’s group doesn’t blame them, doesn’t do anything except sigh collectively, a few shrugs and murmurs of “poor girl” and “she deserved better”.  Aaron, a kind-looking man in his thirties, smiles at them and welcomes them to join ‘the team’.

Bree doesn’t speak, not even when they’re left alone in the room they’re going to share in the penthouse (and it’s huge, and lovely, and they’ve been given actual food but it tasted like ashes on Dianna’s tongue.)

Dianna looks on awkwardly as Bree takes off her coat, folding it neatly and placing it in their shared wardrobe.

“Listen, Bree,” she says softly, watching the movement of the other girl’s back.  “Thank you, for…”  She can’t finish for a moment, has to break off midsentence.  “For what you did for Lea,” she finishes, and she can barely hear her voice.

No response.

“Bree?”

Bree turns around slowly.

Her face is wet with tears, her eyes red and puffy. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” she snaps, and Dianna bites her lip.  “Me taking this whole thing  _seriously_?”

No, she wants to say, of course it’s not what she wanted, it should have been her that set the fire, not Bree; she owed Lea that much, and stewing in her own angst isn’t mature, it’s stupid.  The most mature person here is Bree.

Bree’s gone into the bathroom before she can say any of that.

~~~~~

They’re awkward after that, even when Dianna mutters an apology that sounds stilted and insincere (it’s not, but she can’t blame Bree for outright snorting before waving a hand dismissively.)

They’re awkward for the next week, but over the next month the tenseness softens, in between weapons training and dinners and talking to other people, most of whom are even more bitter than either of them could be, who look at Dianna with derision because she was perhaps slightly more well-off than the average person (that’s how Bree puts it one night, furious at the way one of the other women talks loudly and pointedly about how some people need to learn to rough it up the rest of them have been doing their whole lives.)  Dianna’s actually aware that ‘slightly more well-off’ is the grossest understatement possible, but she’s too pleased at the fact that Bree’s actually defending her to protest.

It’s during a dinner like that, with the two of them eating together in their own little bubble, that the  _Miracle_ occurs.

Bree’s phone goes off.

Everyone in the room stills.

Finally, Aaron laughs.  “You should probably check that,” he says casually, as though no one’s been receiving messages despite the fact that the signals are still up and running, because of some glitch in the hardware.  As though they don’t all know that Bree’s only friends in America are all either in New York or dead.

As though they’re not all watching, wide-eyed and dreading and oh, so hopeful, as Bree slowly pulls her phone from her pocket.

She stares at the phone screen, not blinking, for five minutes.

(Dianna counts.)

“Here,” she finally says, handing the phone to Dianna.  “It’s from Lia.”

They both know everything about the other’s life, so Dianna can’t help but be slightly surprised as she takes the phone, reading a text from someone that Bree hasn’t seen face-to-face in a little over a year.

_Hi everyone,_

_Eurgh okay I have no idea what to say, seriously, see Raine this is why you should have done this instead of me.  (Btw yeah Raine and Ara are still alive too, see, we be awesome.)_

_What I want to say, I guess, is that we’re alive.  Also in the Netherlands, but whatever.  You’re obviously alive.  The human race is still happening, peeps._

_Get back to me if you can xx and till then, wood, cold, dark and fire._

_That’s how we’re going to totally win this war.  Apocalypse.  Whatever._

_More coming later, but till then,_

_< 3, Lia._

Dianna looks up.  “Can I…?”  Bree nods, and Dianna passes the phone along.

She doesn’t watch the people crowding around the screen, doesn’t listen to their whispered murmurs and  _whoops_! of absolute joy and relief.

Instead, she just watches Bree’s face, watches her mouth out the words  _they’re alive_.

“Hey, Bree.”

Bree looks up, just as Dianna closes her eyes and presses her lips against the other girl’s briefly.

“We’re going to be okay,” she whispers into Bree’s mouth, and she feels the girl’s mouth curve against hers before their lips meet again.

_We’re not okay yet._

_But we’re going to be._

**Fin**


End file.
